


Trees, how much they weigh and who cares

by themuller



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, First Kiss, First Time, Iceland, M/M, Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: James Bond has to bring a scientist back to London - from Reykjavik, of all places.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Venstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/gifts).



> Not beta'ed or brit-picked.

Iceland was covered by pretty much any kind of rock, stone and sand imaginable. Grass in all its different species and colours could be found; ice and volcanos, geysers and hot wells; and moss, of course. Bryophytes of the class of Musci, typically growing in dense mats on rocks, moist ground, and — trees. Trees, which by the way most certainly could _not_ be found on Iceland. Shrubs, yes, maybe even the odd Birch tree fighting to gain height and glory, only to be held down by the lack of nourishment and harsh weather conditions.

No, there were most certainly no trees on Iceland. Nothing in fact to provide any kind of proper hiding place for two people on the run in a far too conspicuous car. Bond who had started this mission with a grumpy ‘Yes, Sir’ — biting back a much harsher reply to M and Major Boothroyd — while he was wondering as to why a battle-hardened 00-agent had to do the work of a newbie, retrieving a harmless, unassuming scientist from an utterly uninspiring conference on trees in the northern part of the Atlantic Ocean, that was Reykjavik, Iceland. A place with absolutely no trees, as was becoming clearer by the minute, while he tried to avoid breaking down in the middle of nowhere, dodging yet another large stone lying on the road, if the two tire tracks even merited that name. His passenger, the harmless, unassuming scientist, sat quietly beside him, bracing himself for the next pothole. Bond had been sent off on this mission with the barest amount of information. A picture of the scientist, showing a serious young man, wearing glasses framed by a mop of dark unruly hair, no sense of fashion whatsoever; a name — Ethan Carmichael, codename ‘Q’ — an address, a time and date. He had made it just in time for the start of the conference, but had not been able to make contact with the target, who by then already had been introduced and was on his way to the podium.

Bond had been surprised when Carmichael’s talk, the apparently much anticipated keynote on _Estimating the aboveground biomass for selected shrubs and small trees in the post oak savanna of Texas_ was indeed worthwhile listening to. Not that Bond understood half of the mathematical formulas, statistical data, or schemata and tables which made up most part of the Powerpoint slides; no, it had been the enthusiasm and rather endearingly awkward humour of the speaker which kept Bond captivated while scanning the bright and friendly conference room for any intruders. During the Q &A, Bond’s mind had drifted back to the orders M had given. Carmichael had been given full security clearance and he had to be brought back to London as fast as possible. No explanations, just a stern look that broke no argument. Yet, Boothroyd’s goodbye had been the most confusing.

“Be gentle with him.”

The sheepish look and uncharacteristic pleading had Bond wondering how Boothroyd knew Carmichael. During the three hours flight from Heathrow to Keflavik, Bond had ample time to contemplate the past few months leading up to this mission. As much as he had been annoyed about being used like an errant boy, he could understand M’s point of view. Bond had not been his best since Vesper’s death. His belief in being able to create a foundation for his life, a base from which he could venture out and which he could return to, a place apart from MI6 — all of that had been shattered when she drowned, when she had betrayed him. Before he lost himself in reminiscence and too much whiskey, the landing was announced. Now, he was back in the field, wondering if this was M’s way of telling him that he was too old, too broken to continue as a 00-agent.

The applause at the end of the session brought Bond back to the present. His assignment was clear: take Carmichael back to London as fast as possible. People were leaving the auditorium to disperse into smaller rooms or get a cup of coffee in the lobby. Before Bond was able to move towards the podium, he was surprised to find Carmichael purposefully walking up to him.

“Bond, I presume?”

The vibrant and exuberant demeanour had been replaced with a sad, knowing smile. Bond was caught wrong footed.

“Yes. Bond, James Bond. And James, please.”

He took the offered hand, warm and firm.

“Ethan — or, whatever codename auntie gave me this time?”

“Q.”

Ethan grew pale and swallowed hard.

“I’ll get my bags.”

Bond frowned. Apparently, Ethan knew who he was. And he had tried this before? Ethan was in his mid-thirties and Bond had never met him at MI6 nor heard of him. Why this strong reaction to a simple codename? And was ‘auntie’ referring to M? He would never let her live that one down.

Ethan returned with his two bags, one for his laptop and notes, the other one apparently for his few belongings, while ending a conversation on his mobile. He indicated the exit, but in the doorframe he turned and looked over the rows of chairs, the podium, the large white screen. It was a good bye. That much Bond could understand, even if he still had no idea what else was going on. He led Ethan to the Land Rover which was parked right outside the conference venue.

The gunshot came out of nowhere and Bond had Ethan on the ground, himself on top of him as soon as he heard the shot. Drawing his Walther, scanning the area and unlocking the car door was done before the second shot. Bond returned fire, having spotted at least one gunman on their left, hidden behind parked cars. He got Ethan into the Rover from the drivers side, pushing him over the gearlever to the passenger’s seat, shouting “Down” before he himself got behind the wheel and had the Rover running, accelerating out of the car park less than a minute after the first shot had been fired.

Ethan was holding his bags firmly in his lap, eerily calm, while Bond tried to navigate  through the outskirts of Reykjavik. The road was almost empty, making it easy for one black car to follow them, trying to overtake and force them of the road. Speeding the clumsy Rover to its absolute limits, Bond was able to keep ahead. When they saw the exit sign for Keflavik airport, Ethan was about to say something but another black car was turning on the other side of the road, effectively blocking the way in front of them.

“Left,” Ethan said cooly. “Now.”

Without hesitating Bond turned the wheel, only then seeing the small gravel road leading away from Keflavik. Keeping track with the cars behind him as well as the road in front of him, he surprised himself with feeling alive, elated. He cast a glance at his passenger. Bond had mistaken his quietness for shock. Clearly, Ethan was composed and lead him expertly through the intricate web of paths and open landscape, giving directions at the right moment, letting Bond know when to speed up and when to brake. Bond could concentrate on keeping the car on the road — or whatever went for a road in these parts — avoiding the larger rocks and deeper potholes. Their pursuers kept close. Probably too close for any sane person, but Bond was thrilled by the chase and the realisation that the man beside him knew exactly what they needed to do, where they had to go. As much as Ethan looked like the incarnation of a nerdy scientist, the authority with which he led him had Bond’s mind and body singing.

Boothroyd had made sure the Rover was equipped with extra fuel and other amenities for an off road week long trip, still, Bond wanted to put an end to being chased as soon as possible. Ethan seemed to sense Bond’s thoughts. He was tense and had his eyes closed in concentration.

“Speed up,” he said, keeping his eyes shut. “As fast as you possibly can go in this terrain.”

Bond shifted down, then hit the accelerator. The car shot ahead, barely keeping inside the tire tracks.

“Once you’re on top of the next slope, slow down, let them get closer, then speed up again.”

Bond did as he was told, and the chasing cars closed in rapidly.

“Now.”

Bond pushed down the pedal.

“Sharp right.”

Bond threw the Rover to the right, narrowly missing a steep cliff right in front of them. With screeching tires the two cars behind them went over, crashing spectacularly to the bottom. A few seconds later two explosions followed by a fire ball which marked the end of the chase.

Bond stopped the Rover. He had a wide grin on his face, adrenalin pumping through his body. When he turned to look approvingly at his passenger, he realised how shaken Ethan was.

Looking back, Bond could see a column of thick black smoke rising from down below, the sound of metal exploding muted by the depth of the fissure. Together with the blackened rocks around them, remnants from an eruption centuries back, it created a scary landscape, hissing and spitting at them. Bond reached out to touch Ethan’s arm, but he flinched, opened the door and fled the car, running a few hundred meters before he stopped.

Bond got out of the car and walked slowly towards the lonely figure, now bend over and shaking. He made sure to make enough noise to be heard over the racket from the fire and small ongoing detonations. Again, he reached out and softly touched Ethan’s shoulder. This time, he did stay, shivering, despite the warmth. Bond turned the touch into an embrace, slowly, indicating his every move and giving Ethan time to withdraw or adjust. The man held still, breath hitching, as if trying to suppress his crying. Bond held him tight, let him cry and stroke his back with long, soothing movements. After a while, the trembling ceased. Embarrassed, Ethan turned away, trying to regain a semblance of dignity.

The smoke had turned into a light grey cloud and no more explosions were to be heard. Bond waited patiently. Ethan needed time, probably more time than most of the recruits Bond time and again had trained. Eventually, he looked at Bond.

“Would that count for the first kill?”

He indicated towards the thinning smoke.

“Are you —“ Bond was too surprised to finish. “A double-oh?”

Ethan shook his head, the sad smile back.

“No. But knowing how it feels,” he swallowed. “Pathetic. I didn’t even pull a trigger.”

“Ethan,” Bond stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

“I guess, calling me by my codename would be appropriate from now on.”

Ethan did not look at him.

“They would have taken you. Killed me, if they had gotten the chance.”

Bond knew it was a void statement. Ethan — Q felt responsible and he had probably seen the men in the cars during the chase. Nothing Bond could say would change that. All he could do, was wait and just keep close. Normally, a recruit would have been trained for weeks, months even, before Bond would be sending them off into the field. Thus, he would be able to help, to watch for signs of a breakdown or any psychopathic reactions. With Q, Bond had no way to know what to look for; how to react to let Q know that he could trust Bond. He cursed the lack of proper preparation and planning for this mission, and wondered how M could had made this kind of mistake. The two cars were from two different agencies. One were Russian, the other probably Chinese, maybe Mossad. He had been too busy keeping his own car on the road to get a clear identification.

“Chinese and Russian,” Q said quietly. “In case you were wondering.”

He was standing with his back towards their car, holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing his face with the other.

“How do you know?”

“They’d tried to approach me. The Russians three days ago, the others yesterday.”

He had put his glasses back on and turned to Bond.

“We better get moving.”

“Do we need to take the same way back or is there a faster way to the airport from here?”

Q shook his head.

“I don’t fly. I was about to tell you, when I realised you were on the way to the airport.”

“You don’t —“ Bond looked at him with utter disbelief. “How did you get here?”

“By boat. We have to get to the other end of the island. Seydisfjördur.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you fly?” Slowly, Bond was guiding Q back to the Rover, shielding him from the crash site. He opened the door and pushed Q gently into the seat. “You must have flown to Texas, or was that talk just based on studying books?”

Q looked rather confused before he realised, what Bond was referring to.

“No. I,” Q looked directly at Bond, before looking away. “It was the last time I sat foot in an aeroplane.”

Without further explanation, Q buckled up and closed the car door. Bond went to the other side after having glanced down at the debris.  Everything was quiet and the black, melted metal could be mistaken for a natural part of the landscape. Sitting behind the wheel again, he wondered what he had gotten himself into and why he hadn’t been briefed properly. What had M, what had Boothroyd been thinking? Sending him on this mission with absolutely nothing, no intel, no plan. Nothing. And why wasn’t he told about the contacts made by the two other agencies? Why would they even be interested in Q? Why was MI6 interested?

Drawing a deep breath, he started the car.

“Well then, Seydisfjördur it is.”

They didn’t talk, both of the men lost in deep thought. Q gave directions with the same precision as before and Bond tried to drive as fast as possible, knowing fullwell that there had to be other agents lying in wait or maybe even following them. The smoke from the crash would have been visible far and wide, even if it could be mistaken for a smaller eruption or some other kind of demonic earthmoving event this island was concocted of. Bond had wanted to contact headquarters, but finding a network out here was futile. The Rover and the mobile had been the only equipment, Boothroyd had offered for this mission. More and more, Bond felt that this had to be some kind of test. Every now and then he glanced at his passenger, assessing him, wondering who was the test subject. Maybe they both were. Bond, because he was getting old and was broken down; Q, because he was to become part of MI6 soon?

After driving for close to five hours Q called for a stop. They had entered another eerie landscape, made up by a glacier, a beautiful narrow waterfall and the ever present lava rocks. Q indicated a spot close to the waterfall under an overhanging rock. It would hide the Rover from a helicopter or drone, and provide a minimum of disguise for anyone looking for them on the ground.

Excusing himself, Q stumbled out of the car and found a spot behind some rocks to relieve himself. Bond stood on a small hill, watching the horizon for any kind of life. Not even a sheep made an appearance. They made dinner on a small gas cooker, some uninspiring but satiating stew poured out of some tins. Bond found a few bottles of wine, thinking that Boothroyd at least had tried. Q looked tired. Vulnerable, his mind supplied unbidden. The silence between the two men had been companionable. They only needed few words to organise the cooking and cleaning up.

“There are some sleeping bags and pillows in the back of the car. You can take a nap, I’ll keep watch.”

The grateful look Q gave Bond had him smiling before he could stop himself. Q’s smile in return was radiant, bringing back a bit of the vibrant man talking about calculating the biomass of living trees. Reluctantly, Bond turned away to find a spot for the look out. No good in falling for a man in the middle of nowhere, while the hellhounds of several enemy agencies were out there hunting for them. Despite being past midnight there was enough light to find a trail up the cliff. Bond found a bunch of rocks, which would have to make do as a hiding place.

The sounds from the waterfall were soothing, soft splashing in a monotonous rhythm. It was calming, relaxing in a strange way. Bond had no trouble staying awake, letting his mind drift to the events earlier of this day. Regarding his own reactions in a new light. The situation on the road to Keflavik, where Bond had responded to Q’s order without question despite knowing the man for little more than an hour. He had continued to trust him, even after he realised how close they had been to fall down that cliff. Bond thought back to Vesper, his trust in her and how she betrayed him. But this was different. There was something about Q which resounded with a deeper need in Bond. Maybe he was becoming desperate, wanting to believe in the possibility of a real, unconditional bond between him and another human being. A bond, that would be able to transcend the killing and cheating, he had to do to stay alive. With a wry grin, he shook his head. Would he be able to extend the same kind of leniency onto someone else, someone like Q? Would he be able to leave him for a new mission, risking Q getting into a new relationship with somebody else? Would he be able to put his own life on line, knowing that he would leave Q behind, alone and heartbroken?

Getting a bit ahead of yourself, Bond thought. He stood up to take a walk around their camp, needing to move to get his thoughts back in order. That’s when he heard the muffled cries from the Rover.

As silent and fast as possible, Bond run towards the car. The cries were interspersed with whimpers and pleas, and Bond was frantically looking for any intruder. Getting slowly closer, he realised that Q was talking in his sleep. Bond opened the door and sat down beside him, considering how he best could stop the nightmare.

He got into a comfortable position, back to one side of the car, legs stretched out, the car door left open for easy exit, in case unwanted guests did show up. It was early morning and he hadn’t seen any sign of other living beings around this place.

Q was tangled in the sleeping bag, whimpering and clutching a pillow to his chest. Carefully, Bond placed his hand on Q’s head, letting his fingers thread through his soft curls. The tension left Q immediately. He gasped a few times before he uncurled himself and practically nuzzled into Bond’s hand. Bond continued stroking through Q’s hair long after Q’s breathing evened out. They stayed that way, Bond sitting up with Q using his lap as a pillow and Bond caressing him till the sun was far up in the sky once again.

By the time Q woke up, Bond had long extracted himself and was about to prepare a small breakfast.

“Coffee or tea?”

He was met by sleepy eyes and a frown. Q fumbled for his glasses, then sat up and looked at Bond, suppressing a yawn.

“Tea, please.”

It turned out that Q was endearingly uncoordinated in the morning. Bond provided a mug with tea, milk and sugar, then continued with preparing a few sandwiches. He went for a short round before sitting down with Q. Again, their silence was amiable and without tension. Bond could get used to this.

“The ship leaves the day after tomorrow, in the morning,” Q said suddenly.

Bond looked at Q, who just stared ahead, still unfocused and with a sleepy look on his face.

“If we have to stay off the main road, we would have to leave soon,” Q continued, by all means looking and sounding as if he was still sleeping with his eyes wide open.

“Can’t take the main road. And I better prepare for any incidents when we get close to the port,” Bond replied, thinking about how to make sure their voyage home would be safe.

A ship was not his favourite means of transport. Too big with too many nooks and crannies to hide in.

“Hm?” Q blinked at Bond, as if surprised by seeing him sitting by his side.

Bond smirked.

“We better get going, then.”

Q looked at him with a frown, but dutifully got up to help, only to be standing beside the Rover and apparently not knowing what to do. Bond got everything packed away, before he gently led Q to the passenger seat of the car. Bond got behind the wheel and started the car.

They arrived in good time on top of the mountains surrounding the fjord and town of Seydisfjördur. The MF Norröna had arrived and was lying majestically in the port. The road towards the town was deserted since the passengers had left the ferry several hours ago and new passengers weren’t due before next morning.

During the last hours, Q had explained a bit about his situation. How Boothroyd had found the young genius, still in his teens in one of the children’s homes MI6 kept tabs on. How he had been transferred to another institution, being groomed for working at MI6. Before his eighteenth birthday, he had struck a deal with MI6. He would work for them freelance as long as he was allowed to pursue his own educational path, his love for trees. When Bond asked about how a conference on trees was to be held in a place like Iceland, Q chuckled.

“It’s about extremes. Iceland once had lots of trees, but when the island was colonised by the vikings, all of the woods were chopped down. Used for building houses, ships, fire wood. The sheep made sure no new trees could get a hold out here. But they are trying. Have you seen the wonderful park in the middle of Reykjavik?”

Q then went on gushing about that park for what felt like an hour, before Bond could get him on another track by asking about Texas. Q went quiet.

“As I said, it’s about extremes. Trees in these places are something to be cherished and kept. For wildlife, woods, shade. A wood isn’t just a collection of trees. You have to,” Q hesitated. “Trees kind of talk with each other.”

The incredulous look from Bond had Q chuckling again. Bond liked the sound.

“Not like that. But they emit pheromones, which affect their growth. A wood expands in very particular ways, sending out Birchtrees, which will grow fast and high, but will later succumb to the slow Oak,” Q stopped to give Bond new directions.

“How do you know this place so well?” Bond had wanted to ask earlier, but there were too many other questions in his mind. There still were.

“I hid out here for several months. When Boothroyd wanted to have me working for MI6. I didn’t want to. Back then.” Q felt silent. “Don’t have a choice now, I guess.”

“Why?”

Q didn’t answer right away.

“Why don’t you want to work for MI6?”

“Being locked up in a cellar for days on end? Being even more susceptible to be abducted by foreign spies? Watching, while you are being killed or tortured again? Any kind of relationship impossible, because of the threat of extortion and blackmail? Telling —”

Q shut up when he realised what he had been saying. At least that was what it looked like to Bond. Q was squirming uneasy in the passenger seat, avoiding any kind of eye contact with Bond.

“Again?” Bond asked quietly. “You have been monitoring me?”

Q blushed and Bond had to bite back a loud laugh.

“I’m — Boothroyd, my gadgets, he wanted — He wanted me to understand how things worked.”

Q drew a deep breath, bracing himself.

“I’ve been on the end of your comms for most of last year, James. Giving instructions to your handler. Except,” Q looked at his hands. “Except, when Vesper betrayed you.”

Bond gripped the wheel tight and tried not to show his distress about Q mentioning Vesper.

“I had worked on getting the intel in time to Boothroyd, but one of his minions didn’t pass it on.”

Q didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry. I — I think that’s why auntie,” Q stopped and shook his head. “That’s why M wants me back in London.”

They drove in silence then, only interrupted by Q giving new directions until they arrived on the top of the ridge overlooking Seydisfjördur. Bond had stopped the car and was standing beside it, watching the scenery. Too calm, for his liking. Q exited the car as well.

“I, uhm.”

Clearly, he was still distressed about their talk before. Bond turned towards him.

“Q, it wasn’t your fault.”

The tension in Q’s shoulders disappeared, even a small smile became visible. And Bond’s heart lurched comfortably uncomfortable in his chest. They stood beside each other, overlooking the fjord.

“What do you think?” Bond asked. “Should we drive down there like those guys in a Western movie? Shoot whoever get’s in our way?”

Q flinched almost imperceptibly. After what he had learned today, Bond was a bit surprised how Q reacted to violent deaths considering the line of their work.

“I’m sorry, James. I’m not, I mean, I’m aware of what you do. But being this close to it — that is new. I need to adjust.” He spoke fast. “This happened so suddenly. M didn’t give me much warning. And I —“

Bond turned towards him and stepped forward, closing the space between them. Q looked at him, wide eyes, out of breath, flushed. His lips were parting in a silent “Yes” and Bond leaned forward and kissed him. Q made a small sound, clinging to Bond’s shirt, returning the kiss fervently. When Bond stepped back, Q followed, pouting when he was held back by Bond. Bond quirked an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

Q blushed and tried to free himself from Bond’s embrace. Bond held on to him, without forcing him to stay close. Q lifted his chin, then, and faced Bond directly.

“Are you going to fuck me now? Or am I not attractive because I’m a —“

Shaking his head, Bond pulled Q back in.

“Shush, you impossible man. Let’s do this properly.”

Bond turned Q around and pushed him up against the Rover. Q held his ground and pushed up against Bond, attacking his mouth clumsily. They stayed close like that, lips on lips, tongues licking, tasting. Bond tried to take the lead, instinctively reacting to Q’s apparent inexperience. He held his head in his hands, but drew back to let them both get a their breath back. Q’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. When their lips parted, he whimpered softly which made Bond gently shush him again. The back and forth went on for a little while longer, then Bond withdrew far enough to let Q’s head fall on his shoulder, nuzzling against his soft hair. There was a lightness, a feeling of content about Bond, which he had thought lost a long time ago. Q let himself slump against Bond, trusting and safe.

“Let’s continue this later, once we’re on the ship,” Bond said quietly. “I think, we’ll better start planning on how to get rid of the bad guys down there.”

Q sighed deeply before his body tensed and he stood up, holding his own again.

“I called the GVMSÍ when I got my bags back in Reykjavik. A friend of mine, Hallgrim Hallgrimsson, should have taken care of things.”

Bond looked at Q speculatively.

“You trust that guy?”

“Had to, back when I tried to run from MI6.”

Bond pulled him back into a tight embrace. He would have words with M and Boothroyd about this; he knew that M preferred orphans for his kind of work, but the way they had treated Q - like cattle. He wanted to make up for the abuse, wanted to show this man how much Bond would be able to give him, despite his own shortcomings.

“Let’s get down there and on that ship. I hope they’ve got proper cabins!”

Q looked straight at Bond.

“I told Hallgrim to book the suite.”

“Bloody hell!”

Bond grinned wickedly.

They straightened their clothes and got back into the car. Everything was indeed calm and quiet in the small town. When they arrived at the check in for the ferry, a tall blond man with sad blue eyes were there to meet them. Q introduced him as Hallgrim and he briefed them on the situation over a cup of coffee. The police had found what was left of the two cars and their occupants. Hallgrim and his team had used the past two days to comb the island for foreign agents. It turned into a very international affair indeed, giving the government more than one pressure point with several governments in other parts of the world. As Hallgrim put it, Iceland would be more than happy to welcome Q back to any future conference, should he ever be so inclined.

The three of them had dinner and then it was time to part. Bond had noticed how Q touched him, as if by accident, fingers brushing when plates were passed or wine was poured. Eventually, Hallgrim lead them back to the ship and they parted ways with him. Q quivered with excitement when he and Bond went on board, grabbing the keys from the receptionist and swiftly striding towards the suite. Bond was carrying their bags and enjoyed himself by ogling the rear of his soon to be bedmate.

Q opened the door, pulled Bond inside, closed and locked the door behind them and then proceeded to undress Bond unceremoniously. Once he had divested Bond of his clothes including pants, socks and shoes, Q stood back and looked appreciatively and breathless at the naked man in front of him. Bond contemplated striking a pose for the fun of it, but decided against it when he reminded himself about Q’s reactions before. As unbelievable as it was for someone like Bond, he was sure that Q was still a virgin. He doubted this had anything to do with religious belief or repression of his sexuality. Q seemed very well aware of what he wanted from Bond, while at the same time having no idea how to get there. No, Bond realised with a sudden clarity, Q had never been in a relationship simply because he knew how vulnerable it would make him towards MI6's demands, and how risky it would be for the other person. Being involved with Q meant being a target, something, someone to put pressure on Q, to blackmail him with.

Bond was by now sporting a rather impressive erection and he decided to take things a little bit further, watching out for any signs of distress or nervousness from Q while he reached out and started to slowly and sensually undress him. Q hitched a breath, staring wide eyed at Bond and pushed into the touch, seeking Bond’s mouth and lips whenever they came close enough. His arousal was perfectly visible by the bulge in his trousers and he did nothing to hide his want for Bond. When he finally pulled down the trousers and pants in one slow move, Q’s erection sprung free, wet and leaking small amounts of precome already. Kneeling down in front of Q, Bond was fascinated by the trust Q had in him. Standing bare and defenceless in front of an assassin, in front of a man who had killed so many, and hurt so many more. It was almost overwhelming. He would take it, but give as much as he was able to - take what was so freely offered to him, looking up at Q who seemed to lose any self restraint and bucked into Bond’s mouth. Without missing a beat, Bond sucked hard and pushed his tongue up against Q’s cock. It was all it took. With a strangled shout, Q tried to pulled out only to be held back by Bond’s hands on his arse. Bond sucked down the length and swallowed when Q came down his throat. Q’s knees gave way and Bond let go of his cock with a small, almost disappointed sigh, helping Q down on the floor. Tears were streaming down Q’s cheek and Bond took off his glasses, putting them on the small coffee table beside them. Q burrowed into Bond’s body, shaking and crying. Bond was rather taken aback. Never had his lovemaking had this effect on anyone. Then again, never had he encountered anyone like Q before, Bond thought, smiling while he was fondling through Q's hair.

After a few moments, Bond decided to get them both into the bedroom. Q was too exhausted to walk by himself, so Bond ended up carrying him. Before he allowed Q to sleep, he helped him in the bathroom. Once he was ready, Bond put him under the covers. Q was sleeping, before Bond returned to the bed. It had been a tough few days and Bond himself had barely had time to sleep. He turned off the lights and got under the covers, only to be enveloped by Q, who pulled him close and refused to budge despite being sound asleep. Bond let him have his way, pressing a kiss against the mop of black hair, asking himself for the umpteenth time what he had gotten himself into.

The trip back to Scotland took two days to complete, which were spent almost entirely in bed, making ample use of room service and the minibar. The first morning after had been awkward. Q had been deeply embarrassed by his passing out and what he perceived of taking advantage of Bond’s generosity. After a good nights sleep, the first in several months, Bond was able to convince Q that nothing was wrong. Rather the opposite, Bond had to admit. They would spend the morning in bed, Bond showing Q how to take care of Bond’s morning erection, the long soft fingers deftly working the foreskin, spreading spit and precome lavishly over his length. Q turned out to be rather gifted with his hands. He brought Bond to the very edge, only to hold him on the brink of orgasm. Q had him writhing and squirming under is ministrations, pleading even. As needy as Q had been the night before, as attentive he was in the morning, soothing Bond and pushing him just that tiny bit further, before drawing him back again. In the end, Q had mercy with him, pushing Bond all the way and watching in wonder, when he pushed his body up against Q’s hand and came. Still in a haze, Bond pulled Q into a warm embrace, unable to articulate the turmoil of emotions he felt prey to. Like before, the silence between them was without tension, building on a kind of trust and deep-seated understanding both of them never seemed to have encountered before.

As much as Q’s inexperience could have been an obstacle, his enthusiastic, almost greedy approach to sex made for a sharp learning curve. At the same time, Bond found that Q was extremely tactile, touch starved and longing for companionship. Cuddles and a good cup of tea, the need for physical contact was part of what he seemed to crave and Bond was happy to provide. They talked, about anything and nothing. Bond was trying to process this turn of events, his falling in love with a man, he only had known for mere days. Q on the other hand seemed perfectly happy and at ease with Bond. It dawned on him that Q probably already had been in love with him before they even had met in person.

When they returned to London, it was only convenient for Q to move into Bond’s flat, within weeks turning the bland place into a comfortable if a bid messy home. Gadgets and devices were spread all over the place. Q worked long hours at MI6 and Bond was back in the field, Q guiding him expertly through perils and danger zones. They had found an equilibrium, a new balance for their lives, now shared and bringing out the best in the other. And one day, Bond returned from a mission with a small gift for Q. A gift, which earned him the smile and chuckle he had come to love so much.

A small bonsai tree which got a prominent place on Q’s desk. It was to be the first in many more to come.


End file.
